


La vida es una cárcel con las puertas abiertas

by korereapers



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Basically mostly books characterization+what happens in the movies, Book+movies mix I have no care in this world, Childhood Trauma, Fix-It, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Trauma, Well... Georgie still does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26606653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korereapers/pseuds/korereapers
Summary: Wanting to be known, scared to be seen. Wanting to be free, scared of the unknown.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	La vida es una cárcel con las puertas abiertas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nakchios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakchios/gifts), [VeloxVoid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeloxVoid/gifts).



> “En la ventana hay una nota
> 
> El pájaro no vuela
> 
> Tiene las alas rotas
> 
> Media Verónica lamenta
> 
> Que el tiempo se consume
> 
> Y lo demás no cuenta
> 
> La vida es una cárcel con
> 
> Las puertas abiertas
> 
> Verónica escribió
> 
> En la pared con
> 
> Las tripas revueltas”
> 
> “There’s a note on the window
> 
> The bird can’t fly
> 
> Its wings are broken
> 
> Half Veronica laments
> 
> How time gets consumed
> 
> And everything else doesn’t matter
> 
> Life is a prison with
> 
> The doors open
> 
> Veronica wrote
> 
> On the wall with
> 
> Her stomach upset”
> 
> Andrés Calamaro
> 
> \----------
> 
> This is a movie-verse fanfic, but you'll notice that the characterization is closer to the book. I have my reasons, and my reasons are "god, I love soft guy Eddie that admires Richie a whole lot and isn't afraid of recognizing it". Basically. So yeah I take the characterization I think we deserve
> 
> The summary is taken from a tumblr post by user @JWILLIAMBYERS. The song is by Calamaro because apparently I can't shut up about being Spaniard.
> 
> Also warning, I don't portray Myra as inherently abusive. Not gonna start discourse about this. I just have been in Eddie's position in both ways (parental and pseudo-romantic) and this is my interpretation of what we read in his introductory chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

If they asked him what he feels about the whole issue, Eddie would say that he is fucking terrified.

First, he almost died a couple of months ago, saved by God knows what from being impaled from behind by what is basically the personification (clownification?) of fear. He still has a nasty scar on his chest, and another one on his cheek, but he is alive, against all odds.

Second, he has recently divorced his now ex wife, not without tears on both parts. It feels like leaving home for the fifth time, far from his mother, but this time knowing for sure that he is not going back ever again. Myra deserved better than to have the equivalent of a son as her husband, that resented her because of his unresolved expectations and emotional baggage. Eddie deserved better than to stop looking for a mother’s care in what should have been a healthy marriage. A marriage that was as easy as it was toxic and unhappy.

Third, he is currently butt naked in a hotel room in L.A., in front of his childhood best friend, who very much looks like a child on Christmas morning and who is in fact very much butt naked, too.

What he feels about Richie is confusing. It’s similar to what he felt towards Myra, but also not at all. It isn’t easy, it isn’t safe, but it’s  _ healthy _ . It’s happy, happier than he has ever been. And the feeling makes his head race, his lungs pressing uncomfortably against his chest, and then shrinking. He instinctively tries to reach for his pocket, looking for his inhaler. He slowly reminds himself that he is not in fact asthmathic, that he doesn’t need his meds to breath.

_ Healthy, in the physical way. _

“Having second thoughts? You wound me.”

Anyone else would have just seen a sardonic grin on Richie’s lips, but Eddie knows better. Always has known. Richie is as anxious as he is, opening up emotionally in front of him. With his permanent fear of being seen as who he is, nowhere to hide himself and his more sincere feelings. Of being rejected, and hurt.

And fear, God, fear Eddie understands.

“Shut up, it’s nothing like that. Quite the opposite, actually.” he answers as he takes off Richie’s glasses, ignoring his complaints about how he can’t see his cute face without them.

It’s not easy to admit, not even to himself. But for him, for the person who was his friend before all of this mess, he is willing to be brave. To stop hiding in other people’s shadows and be honest.

Richie’s expression relaxes, and Eddie smiles at him, nervous, one of his smiles from when they were both kids. There is a lot left from that momma’s boy who always seemed to be way too sick to have a normal life, but he is trying. Murdering a clown doesn’t make it all go away, but God, it helps.

Unsurprisingly, stabbing bullies does make you feel better about yourself. Tell that to Henry Bowers.

“You’re looking at me with those big, cute doe eyes of yours.” Richie says, and the words roll easily from his tongue. 

As a kid, Eddie used to have a very strong reaction to the word “cute”. It was Richie who repeated it the most. It sounded weak and patronizing when his mother said it. It made him feel small. Weak.  _ Delicate _ .

With Richie, it made him feel big. Made him proud. He blushes a little, his ears hot, his neck hotter. As if being sweet wasn’t a bad thing at all.

“And you look like it’s your birthday and you got the biggest present of them all.”

“You’re pretty small, yourself, but-”

“Oh my God, what a dick.” Eddie says, but he is laughing.

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, because now Richie is looking at him, a shit eating grin on his lips.

“My dick? You’re lusting for it, Eds.”

Eddie sure feels tempted to gently hit Richie’s face with one pillow. What he does instead is to kiss him, effectively shutting him up. The gesture surprises both of them, tension broken, none of them really daring to take the first step. And in a second, it’s like the almost thirty years of having wanted each other coming back to them, hard and fast, touch starved, hungry, and wanting deeply.

“Don’t call me Eds.” Eddie says against Richie’s lips. Richie is smiling, fondly, his hands holding Eddie’s face, gently, so, so very gently.

“You like it.” he says before kissing him again.

Eddie doesn’t confirm or deny it.

He loves the whole ordeal. Richie on top of him, lips pressed together, tongues getting to know each other. His warmth, the touch he has craved for decades, that they both have wanted forever. Sex with Myra was scarce and unexciting. Richie’s lips on his own are enough to make his head dizzy, though. His body feels hot, like he is having a fever dream he doesn’t have to worry about.

This is very much real, though. Has been for a long time, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. To build a prison for himself and his feelings. Caging himself before and after his mother’s death. It’s the same for Richie, building a whole career around how much he likes women, ignoring his true feelings and drowning them with alcohol and numbness.

Scared of their true selves. Of freedom, of the unknown,of consequences. Like the kids they still are, in some aspects.

“I love you.” Richie says, vulnerable, his voice shaking against Eddie’s lips. Eddie caresses his cheek, fondly, rewarding him with a small kiss on the nose.

“I love you, too.” he reciprocates without a second thought. “Dumbass.”

“Dipshit.”

They laugh, and damn, every kiss is like drowning, like craving back something they didn’t know they had missed. Richie’s mouth is on his neck, and Eddie makes a sound against his ear. Desperate. Almost anxious.

Richie makes a sob-like sound, and Eddie smiles sadly. They’re a couple of losers, that’s what they are.

“Touch me.” Eddie asks with a broken voice. “I want… I want you to touch me.”

He has always been blind to his own wants or needs, ignoring them selfishly, because it was more comfortable to never assess them like this. He knows better now, a little. And he has never wanted anything like he wants this.

Richie does moan at his words.

His leg is between Eddie’s own, moving instinctively, and he has to hold back a moan. He holds Richie’s shoulders, wanting to keep him close, wanting him to be closer. Even if their skins are touching, already burning, limbs searching and reaching and holding.

Richie looks up, and Eddie swears that he can see everything that Richie would love to do to him in his eyes. Everything he is thinking. Maybe because he is thinking about it too, and has been for a very long time.

“How? Eddie, I’ll do whatever you want. You only… you only have to ask.”

Eddie could come only by looking at how deeply and openly Richie wants him. Almost no touch. Just the knowledge that he is desired, truly desired, and that he desires him back. Just Richie’s expression, open and vulnerable, like everything he has ever wanted.

“I… I’ll take everything you want to give me.”

Richie smiles, teasing, his eyes shining.

“Wow. That’s  _ a lot _ . I have a list, you know.”

“God…”

“Sexy things I want to do to Eddie Spaghetti Kaspbrak before I die or he gets dehydrated. I’m going to pay someone to write it for-”

“ _ Richie. _ ”

“Okay, I’ll shut up. Geez.”

They both chuckle, Richie’s lips on Eddie’s own again. Like they were meant to be there. Like it’s their rightful place. They move to his cheek, to his scar. Eddie cannot take it anymore.

“Show me the sexy things, dumbass.”

“That’s more like it.”

Richie hesitates for a second. He doesn’t, usually, not for everyday things. For things that matter, he tends to overthink. To wait for others to make the first move, as if taking action showed a side of him he isn’t comfortable with.

Richie hesitates, and then, he moves.

He kisses Eddie’s throat, taking his sweet time to taste his skin, the sweat on it, feeling his pulse. Marveling at his body, and avoiding to look at Eddie’s scar on his chest.

“It’s okay.” Eddie reassures him. “It’s okay.”

“Don’t worry.” Richie says, and Eddie caresses his hair as he goes down on him. “It’s just that you’re hot as fuck, and I’m a weak man.”

Eddie snorts, nudging him softly.

“Liar.”

Richie looks at him, a deadpan expression on his face.

“Takes one to know one.”

“God, Richie. Fuck you.”

But there is laughter in his voice. There always is when Richie teases him.

“I’m trying!”

Richie is laughing, too.

Eddie feels Richie’s breath on his chest, agitated, almost anxious. He plays with Richie’s hair, slender fingers caressing his nape. Telling him to go on, to give him everything he wants, to take everything he wants from him.

Richie makes a sob-like sound again, and Eddie smiles, sadly. Because he can imagine what Richie is thinking, especially while looking at his scar like that, with those sad eyes that make Eddie want to hold him, just for a little while.

“How long…”

“Since I met you, Eddie. From the very fucking beginning.”

His honesty is as striking as it is flattering. Because Richie lives off deflecting. Never showing himself. Because Eddie feels wanted in a way that nobody has wanted him before. Him, as he is. The whole package. Even the traits that scare him the most.

If they asked him the same question, Eddie wouldn’t know what to answer. He has been afraid of his own sexuality his whole life. He still is. He doesn’t know shit about his own orientation, his own desires, the heavy shadow of his mother not allowing him to grow up, and him being too scared of his own freedom. Of taking a leap of faith.

He always thought that love was like fear. Safe in its staleness.

“I should have known, I’m sorry.”

Richie lets out a sad laugh, his hands on Eddie’s sides.

“Nah, I have always been terrific at pretending.”

His lips are on Eddie’s chest, just above his scar, gently teasing the skin around it. A reminder of what they have, of everything that could have been lost.

“I’m sure Bev knows.”

Richie snorts against his skin, ticking him sweetly. He clearly agrees.

“Stan does, too.”

Eddie does roll his eyes at that. Of course, Stanley.

“Of course he does. He has been rolling his eyes at us for who knows how long.”

Richie is still laughing, his lips wandering through Eddie’s chest. He teases a nipple, gently sucking on it, like he has all the patience in the world and Eddie cannot feel his erection pulsating against his thigh, even more when Eddie sighs, because yes, whatever Richie does with his mouth is everything that he has ever wanted.

“Keep going. Please… Just…”

He’s grateful that Richie’s mouth is busy, because he can feel a smile against his skin, lower and lower, kissing just below his belly button, breathing hard. Not that Eddie doesn’t understand. He knows well enough what Richie is feeling, after all of these years of desperate pining and denial.

Richie’s breath feels hot against his skin, and Eddie can feel himself getting harder. Ready for Richie’s caress, for his love, for sex that both of them actually want and doesn’t feel like a chore or a charade.

“Rich…”

And Richie actually  _ grunts _ , his tongue hot and wet against Eddie’s erection, quicker than Eddie expected, as if he had run out of patience, now that Eddie is like his, now that his dick is hard against his palm, already wet against his lips, a hoarse moan escaping his mouth at the same time that Richie just  _ smiles _ .

Eddie wonders if this is what dying feels like. He feels free, exhilarated, fear disappearing slowly. Limbs tingling and heavy but also not heavy at all. His body and his heart reacting, like it’s their calling. Clean and pure and lucid.

He whispers something incoherent, maybe Richie’s name, maybe just a small cry that sounds a lot like it. It’s a prayer, a plea, holy in everything it represents. No more words, spoken in his mother’s voice, that condemn him and people like him, that make him feel sick and in the need of a cure for something that threatens the agonizing calmness of an easy life. Fake, and unhappy, but easy.

He has already been heard and forgiven. Somebody was listening, and Eddie is not irrevocably chained to hell anymore.

Love doesn’t have to be scary, he realises. It doesn’t have to be safe, either. It just has to be free, like he is with Richie. He has always wanted to be free. To be clean of this sickness that rots him from inside. He feels cleaner and cleaner as Richie takes him in his mouth, looking at him intently, making sure that he is actually enjoying himself.

Eddie is breathless, finally breathless. And he’s enjoying every second. No need for an inhaler, no anxious thoughts plaguing him and drowning his chest, hurting his heart. Just them, making love desperately, trying to get back all the time they wasted.

His fingers are on Richie’s hair, holding it desperately. He thrusts into his mouth slightly, trying his best not to lose himself, not to hurt him.

"Close… I… Richie…"

He can feel Richie’s smile against his skin, actually sucking on him harder, his tongue and lips pressing on his skin with what seems like reverence, like Eddie is giving a sermon.

_ He wants this. He wants me. _ That’s the only thing that Eddie manages to think before coming undone, the tension on his abdomen releasing abruptly.

Myra never wanted him, not like this. There wasn’t passion when they had sex. Just tasteless holding, babying each other because that’s what both of them were comfortable with. With Richie, it’s different. Richie makes him realise that he can desire, and get desired. That his body can feel good, that his body and his mind don’t have to be dirty. That sex doesn’t make them dirty.

No matter what his mother used to say.

The next thing he knows, he is panting, Richie’s mouth still on him, licking him clean, like he doesn’t want to waste a single drop. In other circumstances he would have found it gross. He lacks the strength to complain, and maybe he has gone a little bit mad. It’s the hottest thing he has ever seen.

“I’m not kissing you, don’t worry.” Richie teases, his breath warm against Eddie’s skin.

“You could always brush your teeth.” Eddie says in response, not with a little difficulty. He is smiling, though, big eyes a little vacant, his hand cupping Richie’s cheek.

Richie laughs, a clean laughter, and Eddie’s heart almost stops for a moment.

“Can you believe it? He’s teasing me back! When did you even become funny?”

“I don’t know, when did you?” Eddie answers, but he is laughing, too.

Richie is hugging him. Close, like when they were children. Glad to be there. Glad to be alive. There is something new, though, even if not quite.

Eddie doesn’t know who he is, not yet, he doesn’t know what he wants, and he has a lot of work to do to get to know himself in this way, after many, many years. He does know he loves, that he has loved, that he would have given his life for his friends, and that what he feels for Richie runs deeper than anything else he has ever experienced.

Life is a prison with its doors open. He only has to put his feet outside, and start walking. Running, even. Until he is short of breath. But then, he can just breathe again. And again.

“I want you.” he says, his voice clear, not even a shadow of doubt tainting it. Dark eyes are brave, determined in their gentleness. “Inside of me. Is that okay?”

Richie looks on the verge of melting, his face red, hands shaking a little as he moves them around.

“Are you really asking me if it’s okay for me to fuck you? Really, Eds?”

Eddie chuckles, kissing his forehead.

“You’re a turd sometimes, you know.”

Richie smiles at that, a little less nervous.

“So I’ve been told.”

The whole matter is a little messy, but it’s worth it. Eddie’s eyebrows furrow, a little tense, when the first finger, properly lubed, starts to stretch him. He looks at Richie, marveled at his focused expression. Careful, blushing a little. Feeling seen, but not hiding behind others. Just him, just Richie, taking care of him like he has always done.

Eddie understood admiration way before he got to understand love, after all.

“Good?” Richie asks, and Eddie nods, even if it clearly hurts a little.

“I like you when you look like this.”

Richie blinks, looking at Eddie’s face directly. He looks confused, and it’s funny as hell.

“I mean, I’m not as pretty as Ben. That guy sure looks as if God had had sex with-”

“Don’t say “your mother”. Please.”

“I was gonna say Rihanna. Or David Bekham. Or even Jay Ryan. But I’m glad that you have my true love in mind, Eds. You’re the best. Mrs K had the best a-”

Eddie lets out a laugh. Loud, like a roar.

“Beep beep, Richie.”

“Hey! You started!”

It’s easier like this. Distracting. Richie keeps taking care of him in his own way, to distract him from the pain. The second finger goes in easier, stretching him slowly, and the smile Richie offers him threatens to break him because of how honest it is.

“I have dreamed about this, you know. This is like every wet dream I have ever had. But made true.”

God. Eddie is getting hard again.

“Jesus… Rich. Keep going.”

Richie has the funniest shit eating grin on his face, but his eyes are soft. Softer than he has ever seen them.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

It would be easier for Richie to just take him from behind, but he is a sap that has had a glaring crush for thirty years, so he wants to see Eddie’s “cute face”. Not that Eddie doesn’t understand, because he is very much a sap himself, and he wants to see Richie’s beautiful smile, too.

So Eddie gets on top of Richie after they struggle with the condom for some seconds (blame their nervousness), his dark hair a little sweaty, his legs on each of Richie’s sides. They have both been wanting this since what seems like the beginning of time.

Richie positions himself, teasing his entrance, slowly. Lube will do its job nicely, but Richie still takes his time. After waiting this long, he has all the time in the world.

And God, it’s way too much, but not enough at the same time.

Eddie rolls his hips against Richie’s tentatively, and Richie just whines. Eddie smiles at the sight, at unfocused eyes, trembling hands that hold him and caress the scar on his chest, and then the one on his cheek.

Richie has been so patient, so genuinely nice about this, that he has to make the wait worth it. Thirty years of waiting is a lot. Way too long.

“I have been an idiot.” Richie says, his voice weak as Eddie moves slowly. Eddie lowers himself, kissing his sweaty forehead.

“That only means that we both are.”

And Richie smiles, an open gesture that Eddie kisses in appreciation. And then he moves, again and again, Richie thrusting upwards when he is not completely lost in the sensation. Melting against Eddie’s warmth. He half cries, half laughs, and Eddie kisses the tip of his nose.

“I could… I could have lost you, Eds. I…”

“I’m here, Rich. I’m here.”

Richie embraces him, trembling like newborn deer. Both of them know it won’t take long for him to come. None of them really cares that much.

When he does, it’s messy. Incoherent words, because even during sex, Richie is incapable of shutting up. Eddie wouldn’t have it in any other way. Richie shudders, hugging him softly. Mumbles something akin to a confession, and lets Eddie pamper him a little, soft kisses on his cheeks. Richie is vulnerable, but for once, he doesn’t seem to be scared.

Eddie understands the sentiment.

Love doesn’t have to be scary. It can be confusing, it can make you nervous and insecure. But it’s liberating. That much Eddie has come to understand, after years and years of misconceptions and lying to himself.

Life is a prison with its doors open. And Eddie runs, and runs. He lets himself run, holding Richie’s hand. Until he is breathless. Until Richie is out in the open, nowhere to hide. Like when they were children, holding hands and escaping from danger. Together.

“Damn, Eds. This was…”

“Good, I hope.”

Richie smiles, a goofy gesture on his lips.

“Not as good as with your mother but I’ll manage.”

Eddie gently hits his face with a pillow, snorting loudly. He can hear Richie laughing, too, his laughter reverberating against Eddie’s body. Infectious, like a virus, that makes his heart expand. That helps him breathe easier.

_ I’m cured _ , he thinks. Not rotting inside anymore.

Richie embraces him, softly. He is crying, Eddie realises. Both of them are.

They sob, like children, holding each other like the first time they got out of the sewers. And crying, after all and everything, feels liberating, too.

**Author's Note:**

> If you think I was projecting too much, it's probably true.
> 
> You can send me a couple of threats (or treats) on twitter. I'm @korepers there, too. I'm @lehouirdin on tumblr.
> 
> Now that you're here, I can tell you that no, I didn't beta this (so I might write some changes tomorrow... or not), and it's almost 3 am where I live. Tysm to both Kiria and Grey who had to deal with me while I wrote this haha. You're the best


End file.
